Becoming Clove
by Hailaeria
Summary: Clover, better known as simply Clove, is an ambitious, albeit proud and naive 13-year-old from a working class family in District 2. Yeah, those do exist after all. Refusing to settle for a life of mediocrity, she disobeys her family and becomes a Career, and is thrust into a terrifying and transforming new life.
1. Chapter 1

"Clove, that's a tough, tough thing to do, probably tougher than you can understand right now," my mother said to me, across our dinner. Her eyes were lifeless, her voice seemingly devoid of emotion.

I hadn't expected anything else from my silly, soft-hearted mother. I looked deftly at our food - avocados, red and yellow sauteed peppers, and whole-grain pasta with pesto sauce, a gourmet meal, by our standards. My cheeks were hot, palms sweaty, my usual reactions to anything remotely stressful.

Not having it in me to speak or even look at Mom, I turned and gave Rhea an expectant look, she returned it with her classic "don't look at me, I've done nothing" glare. I wanted to scream, wanted to hit my sister. I had been almost certain that she would support me, not concentrate all of her efforts into self-preservation. Self-absorbed little bitch...

Thus far, this was definitely going worse than I had anticipated. A deadly silence settled over our pocket-sized dining room, only punctuated by the dull, electric hum of the refrigerator and the far-off roar of traffic 13 stories below. _Shit, what do I do_.

"So..uh.." I said tentatively, "how do you feel about it, Mom?" She was glassy eyed, staring at me, but seeing nothing, completely lost in thought, and shock too, I guessed. I scowled and gave her my best, most venomous look. It worked.

"Sweetheart," she said, "it's an honorable and selfless thing to do. But I refuse to send you to you death. I won't do that willingly."

Her soft words were like a blade to the heart. It took everything I had to not cry, to not throw the closest thing to me, but no.. I would regret it later. I was not a child, and I was not weak enough to allow my emotions to control me. Losing my temper now would do no good.

"She's right," Rhea said, deftly. I gave her an incredulous look, seething with anger at both my mother and sister.

"Clove, don't look at me like that," she continued, "Mom's right. Why the hell would you want this? It's sick. We're already pawns, and you _want_to become like-like an animal raised for slaughter..?! You have your whole life ahead of you, and you just want to give it all up for what? A couple weeks of fame ending in death?"

I felt betrayed. It wasn't like Rhea to rant like this. Mom didn't like yelling or harsh words, but then again Mom clearly didn't want this for me so I understood Rhea's logic. My absolutely saintlike older sister was all about making Mom happy. For as long as I could remember, that's what home life had revolved around.

My sister had opted out of school at thirteen to work, and I had to hand it to her for being so selfless. Mom couldn't have a job, and while she received checks from the Capitol to compensate, they weren't enough. Rhea's job was taxing, but it brought us enough money to live comfortably, albeit modestly.

And, while we had never, ever discussed it, I knew it was expected of me to do the same. I was nearing the end of primary school, and I would soon have to make a choice - continue my education and become the selfish, hated member of our family or follow in my "noble" fair-haired sister's steps, guaranteeing a miserable working life, but nonetheless doing what Rhea and Mom saw as the right thing.

But I had already made my choice. I knew that what my family saw as my only choices, in reality, weren't my only options. I would not wake up every morning knowing that Rhea and my mother viewed me as a selfish burden, and I refused to accept being a worthless worker as my lot in life.

I wanted to go down fighting. I refused to surrender to an ordinary life. If that choice meant death at eighteen, I would take it. At least the world would know who I was when I met my end - they would remember me, I would make sure of that.

Rhea and my mother would influence no one and be remembered by few when they finally died. I, on the other hand, would not settle for a life of mediocrity.

It was in that moment that I realized I didn't need their approval. My security would come from within.

I would begin my journey as a Career with or without my family's support.


	2. Chapter 2

"The way I see it," I said, after yet another expectant pause, "I'm doing you both a favor." I was being melodramatic, but that hardly seemed to matter now. I would say what I had to to get my point across, but I wouldn't waste any extra effort on convincing them to support me. I didn't need them, anyways.

The way Mom looked at me, you would think I had just slapped her across the face. Rhea angrily stabbed at her food. I wanted to laugh at her because she looked, frankly, stupid, but now wasn't the time to be childish. I continued,

"Think about it. One less mouth to feed. Compensation, better than what you get, Mom, every month from the Capitol... because I'm helping them keep up their sick little games. You and Rhea could move out of here and into somewhere nicer.. heck, Rhea, you could go back to school! And, you know, maybe I could win. It's a little insulting that you guys are just completely certain that I'm going to die. The training is hard. When I finally volunteer, I'll be ready." I knew I was babbling, just saying everything I could to make it sound like a good choice to them, but I knew this wouldn't help. Their minds were made up. And so was mine.

I was leaving out the unsavory details. I had done my homework. To say that the training would be "hard," was, possibly, the understatement of the century.

******* ****************

Around December of this past school year, the recruiters from the Academy had come. Being a Career is, technically, against the rules of the Games. But lord knows the Capitol is selectively blind. If they really hadn't wanted kids trained for the games, they would've shut down the academies twenty years ago, just nipped them in the bud.

Why? Because the Careers make things interesting. People want a good show above all else, whether they admit it or not, and the Careers ensure that, although it's always the same format: they team up with each other (I've even heard that it's a requirement in the contract they sign) and pick off the weaklings, then eventually turn on one another when tensions start running. Not to mention District 2 has been unwaveringly loyal to the Capitol so this is their idea of a generous reward to us for our loyalty, I'm sure.

For as long as I can remember, our school has been a prime supplier of Careers - we live in the heart of the largest city in District 2. Most of the kids I go to school with come from families like mine.. poor laborers, with at least one family member dead (or as good as). Being a Career is encouraged. Most families would be proud if their child chose that path.

District 2 is prosperous, but at the expense of the working class. The poorer districts make us out to be lazy, greedy little bitches like the Capitol/District 1 (just to make themselves feel better). The reality is, we work for our keep, and we've been loyal. Yeah, amazingly, it pays off. Not to mention we're practically on the doorstep of the Capitol, so keeping connections up is easy.

But being on the Capitol's good side doesn't change the fact that they really don't care about the majority of us... the ones who do their dirty work. The millions of people who built and maintain their magnificent city, and the thousands that have died trying. Most jobs are thankless and dangerous. We're taught from an early age to set our expectations low, but nonetheless, there are still two groups of us kids, those who passive accept they will never amount to anything, and those who still thirst for glory, who still cling to any pride that the reality of life hadn't already managed to squash out of them.

We were, perhaps, the easiest targets in all of Panem for keeping the Hunger Games what it was.

This was something of which I was almost certain. I had always been wise beyond my years, the perks of a traumatic childhood, so I suspected other kids at least thought similarly. I knew I wasn't unique, but I never discussed anything beyond the superficial with anyone my own age. It somehow didn't seem worth it.

Our class, during the recruiting assembly, had been shown the standard propaganda I'd come to expect from any cause wanting you to like them, the film glorifying the "courage and sacrifice" of Careers, the Trainers describing the "rigorous and rewarding" journey to becoming a Career, and how there was nothing, _nothing_ more honorable than choosing this path.

But I didn't need them to make my mind up for me. I couldn't pinpoint the specific moment when I decided being a Career was the life for me. Regardless of the recruiters' phony words, the saying around District 2 was that Careers were born, not made - something I'd never questioned. I think I'd always known this was what I wanted to do.

"If you're seriously interested, after this assembly, you may sign up to meet with us individually," said a petite woman with chin length, straight jet black hair, looking very much out of place standing next to the four burly male recruiters. "Please note that your meeting with us does not guarantee your acceptance into the Academy." She was expressionless. No doubt she had spoken these words a thousand times over.

A handful of kids from my year signed the list posted outside the gymnasium. Some were the obvious choices, the physical ones, encouraged by their families since birth, no doubt. Others shocked me. Adam Antonetti, a pale, blonde boy at least a head taller than me, someone who spoke even less than I did and didn't look like he was capable of violence even if his life depended on it, signed right before I did, and even I couldn't hide my shock at that one. But perhaps he was hiding just as much as I was.

Judging by the looks I got as I printed "Clover Marks," the others were more surprised with me than they were at Adam. I knew why... I was tiny, one of the smallest girls in my year, and the sweetheart type. Ask the kids who knew me and they'd describe me as, "quiet," "shy," or "nice." At school, I had no personality, and I preferred it that way - I only talked when someone spoke to me, and when he/she did, I was never anything but kind and accepting. I wanted friends, and it was easy to keep them around - no power struggles. Picking fights didn't interest me, and even though I would sometimes catch myself silently marveling at the stupidity of my own classmates and how amusing it would be to tell one of them off one day, it was all idle fantasy.

Furthermore, I never tried in gym class.

The typical Career was athletic, outgoing, and cocky. No one at school saw me as any of those things. People my age were superficial.

I felt my cheeks grow hot as I scribbled the last "s" of my name on the list, trying to make my way out of the 20 or so people crammed around it. Most of them weren't there to sign up, just to see those who had the guts to do it then. It was hard not to hate the nosy bystanders. I glared unabashedly at Kitty Mercer who was lurking near the edge of the circle. She was a tall, blonde "popular" girl who looked down (figuratively and literally) on just about everyone, and who was clearly not there to seal her fate. She raised one of her pencil-thin eyebrows at me, before turning to her friend and whispering something that was clearly very funny.

"Wait, what I did I miss?" I found myself asking her in a voice that was so completely false, so out of the ordinary for me, me, sweet little pushover Clove. _Wait, where did that come from?_

Kitty wore an expression akin to being clubbed over the head. It was... satisfying. I could get used to this, this whole shocking people thing. _Yeah, that's right,_ I thought, _I'm not so sweet now, am I. You stupid broad, you._ I laughed. Gosh, I was hilarious. Maybe I'd call her that if we argued. If being abusive in my thoughts felt _that_ good, think of how gratifying it would be to say it...

"Seriously," I continued, "What the big joke?" My voice was louder now... louder than I ever spoke in school. Hot, bubbling, anger rose within me, and for once, I didn't fight it. Kitty still wore that idiotic expression.. or maybe that was just the way her face looked. I wouldn't know. I'd made it a point never to acknowledge her until now.

I laughed again, this time louder.. God, what I must look like. People were definitely paying attention now, hoping for a fight, I guessed. Maybe I'd indulge them.. maybe I wouldn't. It was up to me.. and it was exhilarating - completely terrifying, too - to not deny it for once. I didn't want to.. I didn't want to control myself this time. I didn't care.

Kitty spoke, seeming to have recovered enough to articulate a simple sentence. "Clove, calm the fuck down, I wasn't even talking to you."

It was something in her voice that did it. Snotty, patronizing proud.. she certainly had no reason to be. I knew she was trash. What right did she have to feel so high and mighty?

Before I even knew what I was doing, I launched myself at Kitty, seeing the raw fear and shock in her eyes, relishing it. I saw myself from her point of view, tiny, sweet Clove, suddenly grabbing her by the throat and smashing her against the outer brick wall of the gymnasium, oblivious to the screams and jeering of the bystanders...

I wanted to do it again. Wanted to strike, wanted to see the fear and shock in Kitty Mercer's eyes as a girl half her size rendered her helpless, but she was suddenly heavier, her eyes rolled back, her mouth slackened, and she collapsed to the ground in an unconscious heap, blood seeping from the back of her head, running down her forehead.

What a fine, fine thing to gossip about, I thought, staring at Kitty in disgust. Much better than me signing that damn list. Now they can talk about..

And it all it me then. The shrieking, the egging on, me taking her by the throat, knocking her unconscious with every ounce of strength I had, the smell of the blood matting her sleek, blonde curls...

I felt my knees buckle under me. No one moved to help me from collapsing... after all, why would they? I could've just killed her. I had certainly wanted to. I was a disgusting, sick human being.

I had nothing to lose by crying now. I knew what happened to violent students. Every so often, something like this would happen, and you'd never hear from the kid that started it ever again. I was certain the Peacekeepers scooped them up, finished them off. Weed out the lunatics early on.

I couldn't stay kneeling on the ground like this. I had to get away, explain what happened, maybe it wasn't too late...

I stood up quickly, ready to dash away. Bad idea. Painful black patches burst before my eyes, my legs were useless. I heard the sickening crack of my head against the cool floor...

I was done. Finished. I knew it. I was as good as dead.


End file.
